


Love & Honey

by Three_Oaks



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Day 1, Established Relationship, Fluff, Mr & Mrs Smith AU, benthan week 2020, with some action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Three_Oaks/pseuds/Three_Oaks
Summary: Ethan Hunt is very much looking forward to his first anniversary. A good meal, a nice wine, a quiet evening by the fire with his husband. Easier said than done, given his job.But secrets can never stay quiet forever, and an intrusion threathen the peace that they've built.A Mr & Mrs Smith AU where everything is not exactly right
Relationships: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37
Collections: Benthan Week 2020





	Love & Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post.](https://boasamishipper.tumblr.com/post/622448096291520514/aethersea-shaelit-terapsina-onion-souls%5D)
> 
> I take no responsability for this.

Ethan whistled softly as he chopped the porcini mushrooms, turning away every few seconds to stir the onions frying in the pan. He missed being a cook, sometimes. They were nearly pearly. Good. Benji would be back in an hour, and he wanted to have that risotto on the table when he arrived. That, and a glass of that nice Sancerre they'd bought last time they were in Bordeaux. He'd been saving it for a special occasion.

Their one-year anniversary was definitely a special occasion.

And it was wonderful, to have a supper together like that. Good food, fine wine, a quiet evening by the fireplace. A long kiss after a long day. More, maybe. 

Ethan shook himself out of that very nice daydream. He didn't have time to redo the onions if he burned them. He wanted that evening to be perfect.

He just wished they could have had more than one evening to celebrate, but between both of their jobs, it wasn't easy to find time. It had taken them what, five tries before managing to have one uninterrupted week of holiday for their honeymoon? One wonderful week, undisturbed, with nothing else to do than enjoy each other's company. 

Ethan still blamed himself for missing Benji's birthday. He'd been called away on his way to the restaurant, and had had no choice but to tell the taxi to drive him to the airport instead of to the very nice French brasserie he'd carefully selected. Benji had tried not to sound too disappointed on the phone, but Ethan knew that he was, more than he wanted to admit it. He would never have reproached it to Ethan. After all, he knew what it was like to have a demanding job. And Ethan had made it clear that he had no choice, that the newspaper had called him on an emergency for a piece on oysters culture in Maine. Benji had asked him to call when he got there safely, and that he loved him.

A pity that the reason he'd given him was a lie.

He hated it. Hated the lying, the constant deception. Benji was the man he loved, the man with whom he desperately hoped to spend the rest of his life.

But he had no choice. It was the job.

***

"Are you sure he's the one?"

"Yes. The last transmission definitely came from that house. It has to be him."

"The husband?"

"Hasn't left the office. We're clear for 40 minutes, minimum."

"Alright. Make sure to take him alive. We need that intelligence."

***

Ethan carefully laid the cutlery on the table. Should he put some music on? He took Turandot out of their nearly overflowing CD cabinet, and put it on. It was a favorite of theirs. Ethan had taken Benji to the Metropolitan Opera on their third date, after Benji had spent their previous evening together explaining it to him, and how much it meant to him. Ethan had enjoyed the spectacle, more than he thought he would. And it came with the bonus of seeing Benji in a tux.

A click, just behind his head.

"Don't move."

Ethan took a slow, controlled breath.

"What do you want?"

"You're going to come with us. Quietly."

He raised his hands above his head, his mind racing. He couldn't let them take him. With the foot, he turned the volume up to the maximum. 

"What the..."

Ethan lunged to the table, and took one of the knives. He stabbed the man in the arm, pushing the gun away and starting to run.

He hadn't reached the front door when someone hit him on the back of the head. 

***

Benji was tapping his fingers on the diving wheel, in rythm with the CD playing loudly in the car, covering the sound of the motor. Nabucco, by Verdi. He'd had to rush his report a bit, but he was going to be home on time, for once. It wasn't surprising that he was chronically late and kept missing important events, given his line of work, but he'd really wanted to spend that evening with Ethan. It was their first anniversary, after all.

It had been a wonderful year. The best of his life, he'd decided one time he'd let himself be a bit sappy. He'd just have wanted to be able to be there for his husband more. Husband. Just the word still filled his stomach with a flutter of butterflies. His kind, caring husband. His handsome husband. His husband, that he couldn't wait to kiss again. And other things. 

He cast a quick glance to the passenger seat. He'd spent way too much time looking for a present, and the wrapping was coming off one edge. He hoped Ethan would like it anyway. It was a treaty about the history of French Cuisine in the US. He could have listened to Ethan speaking about it forever. Even though his sister had nearly fallen asleep last time Ethan had brought it up during family dinner.

Well, Ethan put up with his long winded explanations of technical lingo and computer science trivia. Not that he was much better than him. Every time he wrote a piece of code he was especially proud of, or finally figured how to hack into an unusually complex system, the first thing that sprung into his mind was that he had to tell Ethan about it. Then, he'd remember he couldn't.

He couldn't, because the only thing that kept Ethan safe was that he had no idea that his husband was a spy.

Benji pulled into the driveway, grabbed the present, and slammed the door of the car shut. He'd been looking forward to coming home so much, he'd barely been able to focus. He jumped up the few stairs leading to the door, and frowned. He could hear the music from here. Turandot. And as much as he loved it, it must have been on at full blare if he could hear it from outside. Frowning, he put one hand on the door, and rummaged for his keys with the other. The door slided open.

Benji's heart stopped.

He ran inside, praying that it was a simple oversight, no matter how much he'd insisted that Ethan be careful with safety, that the music was only on so loud because Ethan was cooking.

There was blood on the living room carpet, a knife on the floor.

Not enough to be lethal. But Ethan was gone.

Blood running cold, he took his guns out of the hidden cabined between the coat closet. He had to find Ethan. 

***

"What's your name?"

"Bugs Bunny."

A slap. Ethan's face felt as if it was on fire. He moved his jaw, running his tongue along his teeth. None of them were broken. Yet. He tried the zip ties at his wrist and ankles. There was no way he could get out of that chair.

The man was small and heavyset, his breath stinking of old smoke and bad alcohol. What that would do to your sense of taste, Ethan didn't want to imagine.

"I'm not going to ask you again. What is your name?" 

"I assumed you would know, given you kidnapped me. Or do you kidnap people at random?" 

Another slap.

"Enough with the games. Yes, we know your name, Mr. Hunt. We also know who you work for."

Ethan paled. How could they know?

"And we're not letting you go until you tell us... everything," the man said, picking up a scalpel from a tray of assorted pointy metal objects. Objects that would be very painful against soft flesh.

What on earth?

His profession had its secrets, but it was his first time being threatened with torture. He must have royally pissed someone off. 

Deep breath. He could do this. He'd not expected it, but he was ready. He'd defend their secrets with his life, if he had to. He looked at him straight into the eyes, trying to remove every tremor from his voice.

"Your knives are in terrible shape. How do you expect to properly cut anything with those?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like me to sharpen them before I start working on you?"

He shrugged.

"I know my knives. Natural, in my business. I'd rather not get cut up with a badly damaged one."

The man threw the scalpel back on the tray and grabbed his face. Ethan didn't blink. He may have been kidnapped, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. And the nerve seemed to work. He could see a vein pulsating on the man's greasy forehead.

"Not as secretive as you thought you were, Mr. Hunt. You can fool your idiot of an husband, but you can't fool us."

"Benji's not an idiot!" he shouted, before he could stop himself.

"Oh, do you want us to bring him here then?"

"No. Please, no. You can do whatever you want to me, but leave him out of this. He has no idea, I swear."

"Oh, really? Because it wasn't a hard guess. Frequent absences, fluent in eight languages, all that training... You should have been careful, Mr. Hunt. You even look like one!"

Ethan stared at the man, confused. He wasn't usually what people expected for someone in his profession, which was always an asset. You'd think they were all older, probably overweight, maybe with a French accent and wine stains on the teeth.

"Come on. The fancy suits, the sunglasses, the tuxedos! You couldn't look more like a spy if you tried!"

Ethan's mouth fell open. 

A spy?

He wasn't a spy.

"And we're not going at this blind. We know that the signal for the attack on our compound was sent from your home."

The pieces fell into place. He wasn't a spy. But Benji was. Benji, who was away from home as often as he was. Benji, who was so much stronger than anyone expected a software engineer to be. Benji, who could never hide how much he knew, how much he noticed, all that well. 

Benji, who was somewhere out there, safe, because they'd thought he was the spy. 

"You're right. I'm a spy. But I'm never going to talk."

And he wasn't. He couldn't betray secrets he didn't know. 

"Then, I'm afraid we'll have to kill you, Mr. Hunt."

Ethan closed his eyes. Benji was safe. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

***

Benji ran like a madman through the first floor of the abandoned industrial building, his legs burning and his lungs feeling as if they were filled by glass. He'd driven as fast as he could, racking more than a few radar flashes that he'd pay off with his IMF account. When he'd come home. If he came home.

He slammed the door to the basement open, jumping down the stairs.

Ethan. They had Ethan. 

The hallway was dark, with the exception of a single ray of light below the door at the very end of the room. He quieted his breath and took his gun out.

He kicked the door open and barged in the room, gun raised.

"Don't move," he screamed.

There was only one man in the room, plus Ethan. He was tied to a chair and his face was bloodied, but he didn't seem gravely injured. Relief filled him, like a drowning man taking a gulp of air.

"Benji!" 

"What the hell?" the man shouted.

"Hands in the air! Step away from him!"

He turned towards Ethan, gun still pointed at the man.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"Just a bit. I'm fine." Ethan smiled through the blood dripping from an ugly cut on his forehead. He'd be covered in bruises tomorrow. Benji quickly cut his ties, freeing him. Ethan rubbed the swollen, broken skin. God, he'd tried getting out of them. He'd been so brave.

Anger flowed through Benji like wildfire.

"You hurt my husband," he growled.

The man cowered.

"Please don't shoot me! We don't want you, I swear!"

Benji frowned.

"Of course you want me. And now you've got me."

The man had started sweating heavily, casting shaking glances to every corner of the room, desperately looking for an escape. Benji wouldn't let him escape. He raised his gun.

"He's lying to you!" he screamed, his voice pitched higher by the panic. "He's a spy, he's lying to you! He's not who he says he is!"

Benji paused. He looked at Ethan. Could it be? Understanding washed over him. Of course. All those trips, those last minutes departure. The fact that Ethan had never had him meet his colleagues. He knew all the signs, but he'd missed them all, so blinded he'd been by the weight of his own secret. Ethan was a spy too. He looked straight at him, trying to let him know that it was alright, that he understood. "He's my husband, and I love him!" 

"Behind you!" Ethan shouted. With the corner of the eyes, he saw a man entering the room. Caught the reflection of the lamp off the barrel of his gun. 

Before he could even turn, Ethan had jumped through the room, kicking the gun out of the man's hand and immobilizing him in a chokehold.

"I've got it! Tie the other one up, honey!"

The pet name snapped Benji out of his haze. God, seeing Ethan like that, fighting without an ounce of hesitation or fear, the muscles moving perfectly below his tailored shirt... It was doing things for Benji, things for which the present moment was a very inappropriate time. 

He quickly tied the other man up, and then went back to Ethan to hand him the zip ties the kidnappers had conveniently had handy. Together, they did quick work of it.

"What do we do now?" Ethan asked.

"We can let my people do it. I've called them already, they should be there any minute," he answered, taking Ethan's hand. "Do you want to go home? I think we meet to talk."

"I think we do."

***

"Oh no, the risotto!" Ethan exclaimed, rushing to the kitchen as soon as they'd reached the front door. Benji followed him, a few steps behind.

Ethan raised the carbonized pan towards him.

"It was my favorite!" 

"I'm sorry, love. I'll get you a new pan, I promise," Benji said, hugging him.

"Thank you."

Ethan wrapped his arms around him. His hair softly tickled Benji's cheek, and Benji thought he'd never get enough of the warmth of his body in his arms. He loved him so much. 

And he'd lied to him.

"Ethan... I'm-"

"A spy? I know. He told me. It's ok, Benji." He pulled back and cupped Benji's face in his hand. "I love you. I know you couldn't tell me."

"I wanted to. So much," he answered, his voice breaking. "You know how it is," he chuckled through the ache. "You're like me, after all."

"What? No, I'm not a spy."

"But he said..."

"They were looking for you, and tracked it back to this house, but they thought I was the spy."

Oh no. He'd dragged his husband, his innocent husband, into the worst kind of danger. Guilt rose in his chest, suffocating him.

"God, Ethan, I'm so-"

"Benji, honey. It's not your fault. I'm not hurt. We're home, we're safe. " 

He pulled him close again, gently stroking his hair.

"How could you forgive me?" Benji whispered into Ethan's ear.

"Like that," Ethan said. He kissed him.

It wasn't their first kiss. It wasn't their hundredth kiss, or their thousandths. But it felt like something new.

"I'm a spy," he said, pulling back. "I work for the IMF, the Impossible Mission Force."

"Really?" Ethan chuckled.

Benji groaned.

"Yes, it's a stupid name, we know."

"Do you want to sit down and tell me about it? The living room's a mess, I'm sorry."

They sat on the sofa, putting Turandot without even discussing it. As the first note of the first act rose, Benji started feeling like everything would be alright. He told Ethan about his departure from England, how frustrated he'd been with his life. How the IMF had given him a purpose, for a while. How that purpose had started to drown everything else in his life. Until he'd met Ethan. The secrets, the guilt, the lies. And how happy he was, when they were together. How it was all the life he wanted, now.

They sat together for hours, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. Benji couldn't believe how lucky he was.

"I have something to tell you," Ethan said, sitting straighter.

"Hm?"

"I'm not a spy," he said. He hesitated. Benji had never seen him look so solemn. "I'm a Michelin guide judge." 

"I'm sorry, what?" Benji asked, amazement written all over his face.

"A Michelin guide judge. I go to restaurants, and give them a grade."

"So all the travel?"

"I have to cover all of the US, plus France and Italy. Sometimes, I need to go on very short notice to get their best dishes when they're in season. There's only 120 in the entire world."

"Why did you never tell me?"

"We have to keep it secret. If restaurants knew our identity, it would defeat the purpose of the guide. I'd have to disappear if anyone found out. I wanted to tell you so much, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

"But what about all the martial arts?"

Ethan looked sheepish.

"It's a lot of food. I need to keep fit."

Benji started giggling, uncontrollably. Ethan blushed.

"I'm sorry it's not as cool as being a spy!"

"No, no, love, it's so much better than being a spy. I'm so proud of you, and I forgive you for not telling me."

Still laughing, he kissed his husband again.

"No more secrets, love?"

"No more more secrets, honey."


End file.
